


i just wanted to be near you

by nothing_to_speak_of



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8664667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_to_speak_of/pseuds/nothing_to_speak_of
Summary: (songfic (album fic?) inspired by carrie & lowell by sufjan stevens !)
his lover has been ripped from his side like a flower from the earth





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys!! so i wrote this really really quickly because i wanted to get it out. it's my first published fic-ish thing so please be kind! have a nice day loves
> 
> my tumblr is nothing-to-speak-of ! come and chat sometime

**Four days.**

Enjolras lay crumpled on his bedroom floor.

God, he shouldn’t be worrying this much - he probably had just taken a short trip out of town for the thrill of it, or was staying home sick. He had probably changed his locks due to increasing crime rates and forgot to give anyone a spare key. He had probably run out of money to pay for data, which is why no one was hearing from him. Yet, Enjolras was confined into his apartment, and everyone was stuck outside of his security bubble. He had looked in the mirror only once before smashing his fist into it. If Enjolras was afraid of anything, it would be showing weakness. He really shouldn’t be worrying. No one else is. He didn’t mean it when he had screamed goodbye while slamming their front door.

 

**Two weeks.**

It was a Sunday morning when a piece of green yarn showed up on his front stoop.

He really shouldn’t care that much. It was probably from a bird building a nest, or one of his neighbor’s kids had plopped it there by accident. If it was any other color he would have no suspicions; but that was _his color_. It was the color of the hoodie Enjolras still had on his bedpost from where his lover had shed it. Green was the color of his tie during senior prom, when they snuck out of the building and made out behind a dumpster until Courfeyrac came and started shouting.

Enjolras felt bad for always being red.

 

**Three months.**

His face had stopped appearing on the news.

Enjolras had gotten a job at a newspaper, just something easy to get him out of bed in the morning. He had withdrawn from Les Amis a week ago, but the group had accepted his leave long before that. They knew he was gone when he looked to his corner - _that_ corner, where their initials were carved into the wall, the corner when they shared a confused first kiss where they had practically broken each other's noses - and screamed. Combeferre had to drag him out kicking.

He stayed in his apartment alone the whole day for the first time since college. He was crumbling like an old photograph long untouched.

 

**A year.**

He was presumed dead by now.

They held a funeral.

Enjolras, for the first time since the news reached his ears, was rendered speechless. He had prepared a speech by throwing his flesh and blood into words trying to answer an unsolvable riddle. The funeral was brief. No one could stand for it to be more than fifteen minutes. They took his favorite paint brush and burned it and went to go drink and cry and mourn while Enjolras just went to his house.

He just couldn’t call it his home anymore.

 

**A year and a month.**

And a letter appeared.

It read as follows:

_My dear sweet angel;_

_You’ve probably forgotten about me._

_I always made you so angry you would forget what you were saying_

_So you probably don’t remember my name_

_Just a five year long fit of rage_

_I am sorry. I am so so unthinkably sorry for all the pain I have bestowed upon you._

_I wanted us to play out like a work of Keats’,_

_Covered in swirling lines and beautiful signs and symbols that yes, we are alive and we are thriving and we are beautiful._

_I love you I love you I love you I love you my dear Enjolras_

_But I was just a shadow haunting you before._

_I took some time to stare at the moon_

_Instead of the sun_

_and now Icarus lives another day._

_I have been to many places_

_And I plan to see hundreds more_

_But no matter how much time I strapped my feet into shoes_

_And climbed mountains and built boats and read books and drank_

_I couldn’t be as happy_

_As I had been when you were wrapped around me_

_Or when you whispered countless ‘I Love Yous’ onto my lips_

_I could die tomorrow and still be empty_

_Even after all of these experiences I have had_

_You weren’t there_

_So do they really mean anything?_

_I am but a lifeless planet revolving around your sun_

_I was recently knocked out of orbit but you’re so beautiful It set me back on course_

_If you want me,_

_you know where to find me._

_I'm surprised I haven't seen you there already_

_If you would permit_

_it I would gladly stand by your side._

_J’adore toi, mon ange._

_\- Grantaire_

 

 

**Four days.**

And they were in the back of a bus, thoughts racing as fast as their heartbeats as their lips collided endlessly.

Sixteen hours until they would be home. He could barely keep his eyes open but he couldn’t bear to leave them closed.

 

**Two weeks.**

The light was back in Enjolras’ eyes. He was finally happy when he walked down the street to go edit his newspaper. Grantaire would always wave to him from the window as he left for work, after hastily covering up in blankets. Every morning he looked lovingly embarrassed when Enjolras blew him a kiss from the road.

Grantaire was scruffy and Grantaire was damaged but his brain was filled with stories and he was positively _wild_. He quickly began to paint again, and Enjolras cried the first time he saw his lover with a streak of green highlighting his cheekbone. Enjolras cried when Grantaire told him he story of being chased and almost mauled by a bear (“Look, I have the scar to prove it!”) and Grantaire wept with laughter when Enjolras began detailing Courfeyrac’s new acquaintances he had met and latched onto, without even needing to know their names.

Grantaire was over the moon. Enjolras had gotten his passion back.

 

**Three months.**

Grantaire drew comics for his lover's newspaper. He learned to play guitar on his grand escapade, and was scouted during a gig. Enjolras came to every show, listened to every note plucked from the $20 Toys R Us acoustic. Grantaire somehow made the beast positively beautiful.

They rejoined Les Amis, and quarreled and dueled, but their arguments always ended with a kiss and reassurance that they definitely, definitely loved each other.

They also got a cat named Liberty.

 

**A year**.

And Grantaire was set to go on tour. His EP had shaken the world like a magnitude 10 earthquake, and he quickly became loved by very many. And Enjolras was going to come with him and they were going travel together and live together and love together - it was almost too much. Enjolras let another employee take ownership over the newspaper while he would be away. Now he could focus more on his book and field reporting. With

Grantaire back, everywhere was his home. 

 

**A year and a six months.**

And they were set to be married in a small venue across from La Musain.

Enjolras lay crumpled on its bathroom floor in tears of laughter. Grantaire had carved their initials into the door of a bathroom stall and drawn a small, misshapen heart.

And it was perfect.


End file.
